


Kin to the Dov

by CaveFelem



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Dragons, Friendship, Gen, Growing Up, Identity Issues, Origin Story, Snippets
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2020-05-15 13:25:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19296652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaveFelem/pseuds/CaveFelem
Summary: A series of glimpses, long and short, into the life of Ishild, the Dragonborn. Follows the canon of Skyrim main quest... until there is no more World-Eater, only a woman who is a dragon inside. What do you do when you've been to the afterlife and back, slain a being who has existed since the creation, and don't quite fit in the world of mortals any longer?This is an older work that has never been published in its entirety and that I'm editing to make it readable and hopefully enjoyable to someone besides just me. Tags, rating, etc. will be updated as I get more chapters edited and posted.If you're looking for a coherent retelling of the entire plot of Skyrim main quest, unfortunately this is not it.





	1. 4E 174, Evening Star, 27 years before the defeat of Alduin

It was the chill as much as the wan grey light through the narrow window that woke Isolf. He turned around, the bed creaked, and a furrow of worry appeared on his forehead. Hilde was still asleep, curled up around the swell of her belly, ashen yellow hair a tangly halo around her head. Hilde the hard-working wife, the early bird. Hilde, finally heavy with the child they had long since given up hope on.

Isolf reached out a weathered hand and lifted a tangle off her cheek. He was not surprised when she opened her eyes. They were the colour of the light through the window, the clouds ripe with snow.

"I had nightmares," she said. "Again. I tried not to sleep."

She tried to sit up, but he took her by the shoulder and pushed her gently back down.

"Rest," he said and rose. 

When he returned some time later, the embers in the fireplace coaxed to mingle with kindling and log, she was sitting upright on the bed and staring into nothingness. Both her hands and the belly she was stroking were veiny and hard.

"They are such strange dreams," she said at length. "There is fire in them, and shadows, large ones that stand against the sky. Always shadows and fire."

"You should not listen to the prattle in the village," he said, crossing his arms over his chest. "It makes you worry for nothing, gives you those nightmares. The troubles aren't here. Talos forbid they come here, either. You just take care of yourself until our son–"

"Daughter," she said and gazed at him with those winter-sky eyes of hers. "I see her in the dreams, sometimes. The shadows uncoil and scream at her."

"Hilde!" He wrapped his arm around her and squeezed her to his chest. "Stop talking like that, by all that's holy. You don't need to listen to those old gossip-mongers – you're doing a fine job scaring yourself. Get dressed, I will get you something warm to eat."

She watched her husband go, slid her feet out of the bed, did not flinch from the coldness of the floor.

"Sometimes," she said quietly, part of her still travelling the dimension of ominous dreams, "our daughter becomes a shadow herself. Sometimes she screams back at the shadows, and they flee."


	2. 4E 180, Midyear, 21 years before the defeat of Alduin

"Mother, look. It's pretty."

Hilde looked and saw the pale violet shimmer of deathbell in the sparse grass. She was there with two long steps and seized the small hand just reaching for the plant.

"Don't touch that," she admonished the child, "it's not for picking. It's poisonous." For good measure, she pulled the girl away from the flowers and fixed her with a stern look.

"Ingmar Black-Hair picks them," the girl insisted sullenly. "I've seen."

Hilde crossed her arms and sighed, regarding her headstrong daughter.

"What would you have done with the deathbell, Ishild?" she asked. The girl pursed her lips, appeared to give this some serious thought, then shrugged. 

"There you see. When you don't know what you're doing, you've no business picking plants that can kill you. When you're as old as Ingmar and have his knowledge, then it's a different story."

"I will go learn from Ingmar then." Ishild tossed her head. Hilde resisted the urge to reach over and wipe a smear of dirt off the girl's cheek.

"Ingmar hasn't got time to play with children," she said more gently. "Go ask your father to carve you something to play with. Maybe another bear."

Ishild looked squarely back at her mother.

"I want a sword," she announced with all the conviction of a determined six-year-old. "And I want to be a grown-up soon. I've got so much to do."


	3. 4E 201, First Seed, before the defeat of Alduin

Killing Sahloknir hadn't been the same as the others. The others had been more like animals, the only sounds from their maws roars of mindless rage. They had swooped down out of the blue with destruction on their breaths, and she had had no choice then. But this one she had watched take wing from the burial mound. This one had spoken to her.

Ishild knelt beside the giant skull, its skin and flesh already consumed by the fire of the soul's passing, and stared into the empty eye socket. Sahloknir's power stirred faintly inside her, not yet fully merged with the other dragon essences, but she could feel it settling and becoming a part of her. She knew it would only add to the raw, inhuman power already stored in her. It would set her yet further apart from the human world.

From the corner of her eye she saw Lydia, crouched to inspect something half concealed by the shrubs. It was a body. She recognised the scorched shreds of a Stormcloak tunic, and her heart twisted painfully. Suddenly feeling like a traitor to kin no matter which way she turned, she rose abruptly and turned to look over the edge of the cliff, far down towards Kynesgrove.

“Let's get going then,” she said and started down the path. She didn't turn around. She knew Lydia would follow.

* * *

“Over there!”

Ishild would not have needed the cry from Lydia. She had already felt the presence of a dragon, like a palpable change in the air, moments before they heard the roar. She unslung the bow from her back and started directly up the rocky hillside, not bothering to look for an easier path.

“My thane! Wait! Are you going to just – rush up there –“ Lydia was already breathing hard, having sprinted to catch up with her.

“I have to face him,” she said without as much as slowing in her upward climb. “If not I, then who will? He already knows we're here, anyway.”

“How do you know it's a _he_?”

She had to simultaneously admire Lydia's dedication to following her, even to seek out a dragon, and wonder at the housecarl's ability to latch on to the least relevant thing in the entire situation.

“The same way everyone else does! How do you know your mother's a _she_?” She glanced back, meaning to give Lydia a wry look, but met eyes that bored into her with fearful awe. “What?”

“It's not – I don't –“ Lydia huffed. “You're the Dragonborn.”

So this was one of those things, then.

She remembered the same look in the eyes of the Whiterun guards, who had seen the remains of a dragon burst into flames as she approached it. A moment earlier, they had been brothers and sisters in arms against a common foe; one more thread in the fabric of events, and they had looked upon her as if she had been the ghost of Ysgramor.

Even the Greybeards, even Arngeir, had borne some of that look when it had become apparent that she could use a new Word as effortlessly as she could swing her blade.

“I thought it was this easy for everyone,” she had confessed, and Arngeir had admonished her as if she had been a prideful child; but the words had been honest and her surprise real. His lack of understanding had stung at the time. Then she had decided that the comfort of belonging was a luxury she could not afford. She needed to harden herself and not care.

“I want you to wait here.” She stopped and looked downhill to Lydia. “Don't come after me for any reason. I'll come back down when the dragon is dealt with.”

“I'm sworn to protect you,” Lydia started to protest, then dropped it. “As my thane wishes.”

“I am the Dragonborn. This is not your battle to die in.” 

Ishild took a deep breath, turned around and continued towards the sky, the hilltop and the Voice that thundered with frost and fire.


End file.
